


The Hitman

by OneDarkDeath



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneDarkDeath/pseuds/OneDarkDeath
Summary: Alastor is a hitman. Paid to kill people for a living, which he takes joy in doing so. He'd never failed a hit.So why is it that he can't bring himself to kill the blonde male who continues to invade his thoughts every second of the day?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	The Hitman

Harsh breathes filled the silent night. The shuffling of steps echoing against the brick walls of the alley way, that the unfortunate soul soon discovered was a dead end. Their rosy cheeks, round and chubby- as well as the rest of him. They hadn't even been running for 10 minutes and the pig had already begun sweating a river. 

Their fat hands tried to grab at any edge that the wall gave, trying so desperately to climb the barrier, restricting him from the freedom he craved. 

The snob froze as humming caught his attention, the tune sounded oddly familiar before pin pointing it to one of the latest songs released. 'Cheek to cheek' he believed it was called, but he never bothered to find out who the artist was. Now he'd probably never know.

Giving up on trying to climb the bricks, he turned and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his red, sweaty face. Hands clasping together, he begged for his life. Blue eyes focused on the man at the entrance of the alley way. It was hard to tell any distinctive features, though he could make out the brown hair, fluttering in the cool breeze of the summer night sky. The dull lighting from the lamp post behind the tall male seemed to make it seem as if he were an Angel. But all knew that was a complete lie. If this man were to be an angel, it would be that of death. 

"P-please! I'm begging ya'! I'll give ya anythin' ya be wanting! Money? Fame? Just ask for it and you got yourself a deal!" The pleas all seemed to fall to deaf ears as the much more muscular and taller male trailed closer, as if without a care in the world.

As if he wasn't about to take someones life. 

Cries slipped out of the kneeling males mouth, pressing himself as close as he could against the wall. His attempts were futile. They were only postponing the inevitable. Only one man was going to leave the Alley way alive to night. And it clearly was not about to be pitied state of a childish man, who began to curl in on himself as the steps of the man who he had ran from grew closer. Angel of Death. In his dying moments, he would know this man as the Angel of Death. Who got hired to take the souls of those he was tasked to. No one knew why. No one knew who would be next. All they knew was to run when the sounds of static appeared, followed by the humming of a tune. 

Cause after that, always followed death.

The sound of the others footsteps came to a halt. The dead silence that followed cast shivers down the trembling man's spine. The tension increasing as soon as the humming stopped. Who was this man.

Eyes flickered open as his head raised from its bowed position. Goosebumps appearing on his thick forearms as the wind caused the liquid from his tears to grow colder.

A shriek of surprise escaped him as it was now clear by the footsteps had died out. The figure was right before him, crouched and staring into his own eyes.

Seeing his killer up this close, he could make out his features better now.

Brown eyes seemed to glow red as seemed to stare into his soul. They were unblinking and insane. Their thin smooth lips pulled into a tight smile, so large that it hurt even looking at it. His attacker was quite the looker, too bad he couldn't hire this man for any of his films for he'd be dead in the next few minutes. 

They didn't stop staring. The death bringer seemed to be sizing him up, eyes flickering up and down his curled up form before once again landing on his face. Another sob erupted from him, unable to stop it. A fresh wave of tears streaming down his cheeks as the male stood up, slipping a hand into his back pocket and bringing out a small, silenced gun. The begging came back. 

"Please! I'll do anything ya want! Just don't kill me! What did I ever do to ya?!"   
The words seemed to make the figure, clad in black, stop. Pondering of this. A hum reached his ears, those crazed eyes lowering so they were once again making eye contact with the man they were about to slaughter. 

"Well! I have nothing against you my friend! But a job is a job! And I've never failed a hit before!" So this was all some silly game. Anger and fear coiled together in the pit of the man's stomach as he spat at the Angel of Death before him. 

He'd know that voice everywhere. It was the voice of a man who he had listened to every day on the radio. It was smooth, deep and would've been quite alluring if the radio host wasn't raising his gun to point at the snobs head. Alastor was the name of this Male. Someone who he would have never expected to be the 'oh so famous killer' that even he himself spoke about live. It was brilliant really. He had made the perfect front, creating the illusion that he was an innocent, dashing man who spread the news about happenings going on and about. Absolutely clueless to them. Clearly, everyone was wrong. The proof was standing just before him.

"Fuck you!" The producer snarled, a frown on his face. Though, his glare wasn't as intimidating as he'd wished due to the redness of his eyes and cheeks, caused by the tears that continued to overflow. The profanity bought a chuckle from Alastor, who tilted his head in response. Grin widening sadistically as he stared down at his next victim, no hint of mercy or hesitation. 

"Well! Show me a smile! As you're never fully dressed without one~" 

The shot was silent as it hit the man's forehead. Killing him instantly.

Unfortunately, blood had splattered from the wound, a small dash of it running across his cheek. Not fazed by it, he blew against the tip of his gone, the smoke rising from it disappearing into the wind as he slipped the weapon back into his pocket.  
Brown eyes taking in the corpse before him, laughter erupted from him as he turned on his heel and walked away. The smile on his face full of mirth as he continued his humming. Laughter dying down. 

The tapping of his heeled shoes fading as he walked off. To where? No one knew. 

Angelo dragged his bag behind him, a grunt of exhaustion coming from him. His feet dragged behind him as Molly squealed in excitement, arm wrapped around his free arm as she pointed at literally everything. His father was talking to the driver who had given them a ride from the airport to the -admittedly quite large- house they would be staying at. Arackniss was, most surprisingly, at the door and opening it with the key their Father had no doubt entrusted him with. 

New Orleans was quite beautiful. Much more welcoming than New York, where the streets were full of assholes and sluts. Not that their family was any different. Their Family being in the mafia and all. Heroin, his father, being the head honcho.

But they needed a new environment after the passing of their mother. 

The thought caused a pain in Angelo's heart as he fought down the tears threatening to escape. His mother had fallen ill near the beginning of the year. The doctors had told them that she'd be fine, but 1 month later, nothing had changed. The doctors were unable to find out what was causing this as the illness grew worse and worse until one day, Angelo had gone to give his mother her breakfast, only to find she hadn't woken up. And never would.

The death had brought much grief to the family. As much as his father hated to admit it, the loss of his wife had nearly destroyed him inside after punching multiple holes in the walls of their old house. Arackniss had pushed everyone away. Instead focusing on any jobs and trying to get away as much as possible, unable to handle the sadness in the air. And Molly. Poor, sweet, innocent Molly. The girl didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to be born into a world of crime. Angelo only hoped she would find someone to love soon enough, so she could marry them and leave. He didn't want her to stay with this family longer than necessary. 

Angelo himself had turned to fucking random strangers behind buildings or doing drugs. Either one or both. But now was time for a fresh start.

He would forget about everything that happened in the past, and rather focus on his new life here in New Orleans. 

"At Least this shithole is better than at home." Angelo swore to himself, trudging inside without Molly by his side. His sister deciding that she wanted to go see the lake next to their house. It was vast and quite beautiful. But Angelo was exhausted and would rather head off to bed. Uncaring of which room he walked into, he threw his bag next to the bed and slammed the door shut. Locking it in the process. Along with the new start, came a fully furnished house. The only items they had really brought over was their clothes, family tokens, pictures and all the little trinkets they couldn't bring themselves to leave behind.

Angelo threw himself on the bed, platinum locks splayed across the pillows as he sunk into the comfortable mattress. A groan of appreciation slipping from him as he allowed sleep to overcome him. He'd explore the town another day. 


End file.
